Conquest of the Picts
by wildkatz
Summary: Arianne has died, and Quintus Dias is left to run from the Picts, seeking revenge for their lost comrades. But a new Pict is after Quintus' life, and is determined to make him yield to his every whim.  Set year after movie  Yaoi movie Quintus/OCC
1. Chapter 1

**Conquest of the Picts**

**Wild: Hiya peoples! I just recently saw this movie, and I must say that I saw plenty of opportunities for the story to be continued, if in a different fashion.**

**Aiya: yeah, some old fashioned Roman/Picts! Sis thought it'd be fun to do something of a twist with Quintus Dias' continuing story.**

**Wild: Arianne has died after a year of being with Dias, and now, he is captured once again by the Picts. However, this time, the Picts have plans to keep him alive and captive forever as a pet.**

**Aiya: So he is placed in a strong Pict's grasp, a powerful warrior that is not used to being challenged of defied. How will a former Roman soldier change everything in the Picts camp?**

_Italics = thoughts_

**I**

Quintus Dias, the Second in Command to the Frontier Garrison, had been his title at one point. He used to be able to say that title with honor and with command over all his soldiers, the soldiers he placed his trust into.

But now, after becoming a fugitive to the Roman Empire, and having the entire Ninth Legion's death upon his shoulders, he could no longer think about such things, let alone utter the words.

He sat in front of the burning stack of wood that crackled inside the small hut he and Arianne shared. He stared at the burning embers, seeing images of his life as a soldier flicking in the crimson and burnt orange. He flinched and turned around abruptly, brought out of his world of memories by Arianne's hoarse coughing and moaning.

She lay on her small bed, shivering and curling as tight as she could beneath her fur blanket, the one Quintus had crafted from the warm hide of a wolf he had hunted for her. Now her hair had faded from its angelic golden blonde to a pale, pale white. Her eyes had once been beautiful, but were now dull and distant. She was sick, ran a fever twenty-four hours every day for the past two months. She had been unable to leave her own bed.

Now she found herself sick and bed-ridden and unable to move hardly an inch. It was painful for her to even sit up to eat her meals, to suck even the drippings of honey from a bowl. She was dying…and it made Quintus weep every night in his sleep.

"Arianne? What's wrong?" he asked her, kneeling by her and carefully lifting her up to her head lay on his knees. He stroked aside her hair, matted from sweat, and felt her forehead. "Arianne, you're sweating up a storm and you feel extremely warm! We need to get this blanket off you!"

"No!" she cried out, holding it firmly in her tiny grasp, shivering and shaking, her eyes rolling to the back of her head before focusing again. "I-I'm s-so c-c-cold," she stuttered, shivering before coughing again, her chest heaving. Then she was gasping for breath, trying to inhale deeply, but her lungs were quickly failing, and the night was young. "Q-Quintus?"

"Yes?" he whispered, staring down at her with love and adoration. This witch had survived all alone until a year ago, when he had come back to her with a wound created by his own "allies" within the Roman Empire. And now, their relationship had barely advanced, and this misfortune befell them. Did the gods truly hate him so?

"You need-to live on…for both of us," she whispered, smiling at him. She reached out her hand slowly, opening her tight grasp to reveal the wood carving of the roman horse he had made for her a year ago. It still looked as beautiful and newly made as it had the day he'd left it in her care. "Y-You have to live, Roman."

"I am not going to live if you aren't with me, Arianne…I love you, as I have since the day I met you. I will not live unless you're by my side," he whispered, leaning down and kissing away the heart-wrenching tears pouring down her hot cheeks. "I love you, Arianne."

She smiled weakly as her heartbeat began to slowly disappear, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes met his in a pleading, adoring way as she whispered, "And I return your love, Quintus Dias…remember…remember the life you lived, and live on just the same…live-with my spirit-guiding you…watch for your golden eagle…I l-love yo-uuuuu…"

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and the tight grip she had once held onto the horse with vanished, and the hard wood collided with the ground, and his eyes stared at her peaceful face. He clenched her hand and ran his fingers tightly through her hair.

"Arianne?" he whispered, staring at her in grief and disbelief. "Arianne? No…you can't do this to me! Arianne! Arianne, wake up!"

He shook her body helplessly as his own eyes welled with tears of sorrow and remorse. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, breathing, trying to breathe life back into her body. He lifted his gaze to her face and he whispered, "Please Arianne. Don't leave me here all alone. I can't stand being left alone again…I have no one. I had no one except you,  
>Arianne!"<p>

He tried to coax her back awake, but her body remained still, lifeless, and unmoving. He stared in disbelief and slowly, his shoulders began to shake and quiver with sobs wracking his body. His tears coursed down his face as he watched yet another of his dearest friends, and the woman he had hoped to marry, die in front of him again.

He leaned forward, holding his face in his palms, letting the sobs control him and the tears to conquer his state of mind. He leaned back on his heels and threw his head into the ear, letting out a piercing mix between a roar of fury and a cry of agony. It echoed for miles, traveling even to the Picts ears, and every Garrison, man, or beast within the area.

Birds scattered outside as the cry died down with Quintus colliding with the floor, his emotions too powerful to keep himself awake. He stared vaguely at the carving he had made of the Eagle of Rome, and reached out, clutching it. And in his other hand, he never released Arianne's lifeless hand.

**I**

The village of the Picts mourned in front of their leader at the news of their brethren, and their best tracker/hunter, Etain, being killed. They wept and many cried, vowing vengeance against the Romans who had once killed Gorlacon's son, and now their best Roman killer.

Gorlacon stood in front of his weeping people and was fuming with rage before he turned to his people and cried out in their language, "The Romans will pay! Etain's death would not have been in vain! I know that with so many of the Ninth dead, the last survivors will be hiding somewhere Romans will never touch."

The Picts cried out in anger and fury, crying out for vengeance, and the men stepped forward in eagerness.

"They must be hiding somewhere right beneath our noses. They adapted to the forest, so search everywhere, and never rest, never sleep until you bring me back the survivors, alive and body in tact!" Gorlacon cried out, and the women screamed with desire to kill for revenge of their comrades, and for Etain.

Gorlacon silenced them and summoned a group, a very special group within their village, led by a strong man of the age thirty-seven years old and of fine build. Dark hair was braided down his back with gentle wisps curling around his angular face. Piercing blue eyes gazed back at Gorlacon, his prized male warrior, and the strongest behind him. The man's name was Mammon.

Gorlacon summoned Mammon and his legion of men to stand and kneel before him. Horses were brought out, equipped and ready for departure immediately.

"Mammon, you and your men must be our wrath and vengeance. Etain has failed to return, and has died because of these Romans. It is now your duty to track them down, and bring them to me…now go, and be by sword," he said in a civilized voice, much like that of a commander, as he was the leader.

Mammon looked up at Gorlacon and slowly stood up, nodding and beating his clenched fist against his chest.

"I will bring back the leader myself, and break him for you before everyone," he promised and turned around, striding with power to his horse and drove his heel into the black stallion's side. The stallion lurched forward, breaking out into a fast gallop with Mammon on his back and his men riding proudly behind him.

The village of the Picts cheered and roared for the blood of the Romans and sung in hymn for the return of their men, and for the return of the Centurion whom had escaped from their grasp too many times. They desired Roman blood.

**I**

Quintus had slowly risen from his deep slumber, staring at the cold body of his beloved. He had stroked her hair, imagining its lost golden shine, the bright shimmer of her eyes when she had looked at him. He imagined the way she had welcomed his back, and all the stories she had taught him.

He had taught her how to fight one time. He laughed at the memory as he stroked her pale cheeks. It had ended in disaster. She was better suited to the gathering of plants and the preparation of the meals, and the tending of the forest glen. So he hunted; she fished; he fought whoever disturbed their peace; and she soothed him afterwards.

And now it was all gone in the blink of an eye. He let his hand wipe away his tears and he rose to his feet, putting the warm fur blanket over his dead love, sobbing mournfully. But he didn't stop sobbing while gathering everything he could into a bag. Food, clothing, medicinal herbs, his weapons, and his tools were all being packed into the bag.

He cried as he packed these things, slipping on his fur clothing for the long travel he'd be enduring. He could no longer endure being in this hut, being aware of her dead body being there with him, and the happy memory of her touch and her face.

He opened up a cabinet and stared at his Roman sword, the Golden Eagle encrusted onto the hilt, gleaming brilliant amber and bullion. He stared at it and quickly grabbed the hilt, swinging it artistically in his grasp, much like how he had a year ago before stowing it away forever.

Now here he was, holding it again.

He gulped and stuffed it under his belt, grabbing his bag and the carved eagle and the Roman horse. He caressed them both in his palms then placed them carefully in a small pouch, tying it firmly to his belt, right beside his blade. He patted it calmly then looked to the fur blanket. He slowly leaned down and caressed the silkiness. He smiled sadly and whispered, "Forgive me, Arianne…I'll always love you. May you rest well with the gods high up above."

He smothered the fires in the stove, watching the last flame flicker out as he left the small hut, leaving it behind him. He took his horse, the gentle chestnut colt and heaved himself onto the horse's back.

"Let's ride, my old friend," he whispered and nudged the horse's side. "Haa!"

The horse reared and cried out before darting off into the forest, riding over the terrain they had travelled on when with company. Now they stood alone.

Alone and hunted once more.

**I**

**Wild: Well guys, there is my first chapter! I hope it is to your liking, as it is my first time writing this movie's story. It is also very complicated creating the plot to go along with the movie's previous.**

**Aiya: and if you didn't like it, flame her and beat her all ya like! I do it quite often, and will do it for you! If you have positive feedback, my hand will be stayed by your generous words.**

**Wild: Please Review, and tell me how I did with the story! Happy Easter everyone!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Conquest of the Picts**

**Wild: well, even though nobody has reviewed, I have confidence, and will keep posting!**

**Aiya: Yeah! 'Cause she's committed even though you people aren't reading! And if ya don't start reviewing, I'll turn into the Second Generation of Etain!**

**Wild: Hey now! No need for such violence dear sister!**

**Aiya: That's what you think…enjoy the story, Romans!**

**II**

Quintus Dias rode through the forest surrounding his and Arianne's cottage. He rode his horse for a long time, just wandering around and trying to steer himself away from the small cottage. Yet that had been his life for a small amount of time, and he had grown quite attached to it.

He stopped his steed on a hill and stared at it, smoke rising from the steeple as normally as any other day. He watched it with bright bluish green eyes, unable to look away from the peaceful housing he had discovered refuge in.

_No, I can't think about this now…if I do, then there is no hope of me ever turning away from here, _he thought with a long sigh and casting his eyes to the earth. He leaned forward and patted his horse, Alexander, on the neck.

"We both won't be able to leave if we don't leave…come on," he said, turning and nudging the horse forward into a gentle trot, turning away from the cottage and moving through the forest. He cast glances all around him, seeing images of him and Arianne.

The river where they fished; the tree where they carved their names together in Roman and in Picts language; the glade where they sat and just stared at each other in love and adoration; it was all surrounding him, and he couldn't stop seeing her bright face before the image of her death smile crossed his mind.

"No; it is over now, and I can't let the memories keep me grieving," he whispered and jerked his boot back into Alexander's side. "Hya! Onward boy! We need to get moving!"

Alexander snorted and picked up speed, riding forward with great speed, as he had been taught when becoming one of the Roman army's steeds. They flew through the forest, a gentle blur that barley made any noise. They had trained for the possibility of Picts, and to evade them, you had to be silent, even on horseback.

For it was hard to escape the Picts, especially in their joust for vengeance.

**II**

Mammon sat atop his horse, searching the vast plains as he and his group rode through a blistering cold snowstorm. Yet he didn't hesitate, only tucked his warm furs tighter around him. His group pushed through until the snow began to disappear and the trampled ground was becoming seen below.

He whistled for his second, Sahkar, to ride up to him.

"Tell me about what happened with these Romans. They're obviously much sneakier than normal, and far better trained. The fact that they escaped Etain, and killed her shows that," Mammon said, looking at Sahkar. The hunter was strong and swift, but was a natural born tracker; much like Etain had been; only friendlier.

"From our information, one of the surviving was a prisoner we had captured before decimating the Ninth Legion of Romans," Sahkar said calmly, riding and searching the area around him, looking for movement or signs. "He was apparently considered a possible asset, as he knew our language. But he managed to escape."

"Escape?" Mammon asked in disbelief, and slight admiration. It was hard to escape from the Picts; virtually impossible.

"He ran, surviving in hunger, and managed to outrun the Picts' finest horses for many days until he stopped, and was saved by the Legion's General. But when we had their General captive, we killed him, and chased the last eight that had survived our crusade."

Mammon looked ahead and rode forward, thinking over this new information. Whoever had led the band of Romans must have been extremely smart and calculating. He was probably an even better warrior.

"Do you think we can find the leader, Sahkar?" Mammon asked, and his second looked at him.

"Isn't our mission to find them all, Mammon?"

"Followers do not lead battles, nor do they give the orders to kill. It is the leader who I am more concerned about. If it was the one who escaped us before, who is to say that he won't go to the Roman Empire and tell them our weaknesses?"

"Mammon," Sahkar said, and he looked at him, "the Romans do not take losses kindly. We decimated their entire Ninth Legion, said to be the most powerful in all of Rome. They wouldn't let a mere soldier survive and go back to Rome…they'd kill him."

"Then could he still be alive? Can you think of anywhere he would be? The Romans are building that wall, after all; he'd never make it past that point!" Mammon said and kicked his horse to go faster. His men cried to their horses for further speed to keep up.

Sahkar was quiet for a moment before he said, "We will go to the Witch of the Forest…she is near a Regimen ground, the last place the Picts murdered and killed. She might know where he has gone to."

Mammon nodded and kicked his horse.

"Onward to the Witch then!"

**II**

Quintus rode for a while, spreading out through the forest and stopping every now and then to feed Alexander. The horse was vigorously riding over rough terrain that even though they had ridden it many times, was still treacherous.

"We've got really nowhere to go, do we boy?" Quintus asked, stroking his horse's neck affectionately. The horse snorted in affirmation and stomped his hoof, creating long grooves in the wet, moist dirt. Alexander bobbed his head in agreement. Quintus laughed and stroked his forelock. "We could always try travelling to the west, join some tribe. I already know Pict language, why not learn another?"

Alexander reared and snorted, shaking out his mane.

"No?" Quintus asked and looked down at his feet then up at the air. "Then where good friend?"

Alexander shifted n his hooves and looked towards the east, rearing and neighing. Quintus looked in the direction before staring at the horse.

"You want to go that way? It's Picts' territory, and suicide? Course, I imagine you wouldn't think that, now would you?" he asked, but stood up and the horse's snorting and continuous pawing at the ground.

"You're a crazy gelding, I swear to Zeus," Quintus said in disbelief before mounting and nudging the horse's side. "Let's go then. You can lead, but don't go off and become the bullet and send us to our own demise."

Alexander reared and burst forward, building from a slow trot into a gentle, easy, graceful gallop that made them look as if the two were flying rather than riding, their hooves barely touching the ground. The chestnut horse might as well have sprouted wings and taken to the sky.

Quintus smiled as wind rushed against his face. He felt like flying, if only to escape and become free.

**II**

Governor Agricola sat in front of the large map, staring at the terrain and territory he was put in. Such God Forsaken Lands he had been put in, along with his beautiful daughter, more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.

"You know just staring at the map won't do anything," Druzilla said, coming up behind her father to rub his shoulders. Her long black hair cascaded down her back in a half up, half down bun. Her dark eyes were surrounded by heavy make-up, and her poison touched black lips were an evident contrast against her pale skin.

"Druzilla," he said and reached behind to touch her hand. "I ache to go back home, and for you to be with your mother again, where you can praise the gods in the temple…there is nothing here but mindless savages who won't fall before the true power of Rome."

"And that is why we are building the Great Wall, to keep out the savages, and for us to return to Rome!" Druzilla said, kneeling at his side to stare at her father's withered, wrinkly face. "There, you can once again kneel before our Lord, before Zeus, and proclaim your glory to the other Governors."

"A false glory," he grumbled, turning to stare at the map again. He reached over to pick up the fallen statue that had represented his beloved Ninth Legion. Now only one survivor had made it out alive from that battle, and now he regretted sending him away to be killed, only to have him escape into the wild.

"You know we couldn't return with such a great loss on our backs. The Gods would have scorned us, and our name tarnished, Governor Agricola," she said, rising to her feet to stare down her nose at her father. "You will once again enter Rome once the Wall is finished, and we will take up our positions once again. Not ever again shall one roman utter words of the Ninth Legion, and they will be forever erased from Roman record. Now if you will excuse me, I must go perform for the Gods."

Druzilla turned on her heels and strode out with the dignity of Athena, but the cruelty and cold-heartedness of Medusa. Her hair should have turned to snakes, yet it remained a coal, jet-black.

Governor Agricola shuddered and lowered his head, cradling the small rearing soldier, and internally wept, and prayed for his salvation, and for Zeus' guidance.

**II**

Mammon stopped as Sahkar was examining the ground for any marks or signs of the Romans having passed through. Nearing the border of crossing into the Witch's Territory, they had found long ago discarded Roman clothing, and one or two weapons bearing the golden eagle of Rome.

"They went through here, but a long, long time ago," Sahkar said, staring at the ground. Mammon grunted, staring and watching his friend before glancing around. He opened his senses and listened hard, centering only his mind and expanding his full attention to any sudden sounds, and the calls of the wild.

Nothing to the north, he determined and turned his ears to the west. Still nothing. He adjusted his horse so he could turn his stallion to the south. He froze, listening closely before whistling to Sahkar to listen. The track stood still and lifted his ears to the sky, listening carefully before sniffing the air like a wolf.

"Roman…it is the hoof beats that all their horses have. We ride to the south, and we are sure to find him before nightfall!" Sahkar said and leapt on his horse and kicked him in the side, picking up his long trident spear before leading the group.

"Hya!" Mammon cried out and rode up beside Sahkar with the callings of his group of Picts riding behind him, yelling out their tribal callings to their own Gods for a good hunt, for victory, and for vengeance through Roman despair. "Let the Romans crumble beneath their own destructive deeds!"

They all echoed and thundered through the forest, towards the south, where Quintus Dias was riding to meet them. A collision sure to ensue and a game of cat and mouse sure to commence.

**II**

**Aiya: *steps up and crosses arms defiantly* Well kids, Wild fell asleep so I have to bid you goodbye. She worked her best to finish this chapter and to draw in more readers. So as to help me out, I brought along a friend of mine.**

**Dean Winchester: Hey guys, Aiya here is a good "friend" of mine, and one of the best evil twins I've ever met.**

**Aiya: got that right, but away from the point that Dean Winchester of the hit series Supernatural is my best buddy, we would like to thank you for reading our story, and we hope you review!**

**Dean: And check out katz' Supernatural story too! It's the best, though not for Adam.**

**Aiya: so good riddance, Romans!**

**Dean: All hail Caesar!**

**Aiya: Shut up.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Conquest of the Picts**

_Wild: Well, still no posts, but I will succeed in making this story complete as a success! Cha! _

_Aiya: Yeah, cause she is a free woman, and has the rights that any writer does to write what they want, and how they want to write it! So there! And look out kids! Lock your doors, close your windows, and stay awake! Pay attention! Picts and Quintus! Let's get ready to RUMBLE!_

_Wild: Uhhh, yeah, what she said- anyway! So far!_

_**Summary: Quintus had left Arianne and his cottage behind to start anew, heading towards the west under his horse's wishes and direction. But unknown to him, he is heading straight down the line into a collision course with a herd of Picts out for his head, and to take him prisoner! Will Quintus escape? Or will he fall before the Picts once more?**_

_Italics- thoughts_

**Bold- Pict language**

_**III**_

"Seriously, Alexander, this is complete suicide. Why am I listening to a horse again? Is it because I'm insane or just pure crazy?" Quintus said aloud, throwing his hands everywhere. Alexander knew how to maneuver himself through trees and mountain terrain without Quintus having to steer him.

Alexander snorted and tossed his head, whinnying.

"Right, so I'm just pure crazy?"

Head bobbing, Alexander darted up a small hill, making Quintus gasp loudly and hold on tightly to the reins and saddle. He rode out the horse's steep gait, their body's moving as one instead of two, smoothly going up the hill.

"Okay, but who is crazier? After all, you're taking me right into Picts' territory! They're the Roman Empire's number one enemy beyond the Great Wall!" Quintus said, almost yelling the words because he was being jerked around so much by the trotting horse. "Alexander, are you even listening to me?"

A snort was given in response.

"No, of course you aren't," Quintus sighed and looked around at the territory. It had been some time since he travelled this far west, but somehow, he felt that he knew every crick, crack, rock, river, tree, and speck of dirt by heart.

_I know that hill. I know that tree. I recognize that sound. I remember that stream, _he kept thinking, looking at everything before halting Alexander. He stared across the forest before steering Alexander towards the forest green.

He stared through the trees before seeing the small cliff. He stared at it, sitting atop his horse, blue eyes playing out the scene that frightened him more than any dream had ever caused him to wake. He saw it clearly, as if it were happening again, with him watching in real life.

He saw Etain and her men crawling up the slope of the hill, grinning and hurrying up the hill to slice and dice her prey, to murder them with disgust and pride at having killed another of the Roman kind.

He saw him and the men of the ninth, hurrying and contemplating what they could do as they stared down at the running water.

"_We have to jump! There is no other way, unless you want to be killed by them!" _his own words echoed in his ears and he unknowingly let tears begin to stream down his cheeks. Alexander turned his head to try nibbling on Quintus' pants legs to rouse him. Yet Quintus could only continue to stare in horror.

He watched the men jump before two arrows were shot, and one kitchen boy fell into the river, dead before his body ever hit the water. Quintus saw himself, mourning in only a few seconds, silently weeping. But just as he began to pray to Zeus and the Gods above to carry the boy into the afterlife peacefully, he turned and saw Etain staring at him with murderous eyes.

He thought he could still hear the growl and the cry as she launched the ax that was meant to slice his head open, but missed as he jumped over the cliff, falling into the flowing river of aquamarine, flooding his senses before he was swept away.

Alexander reared, neighing loudly and shrilly, causing Quintus to cry out and clasp tightly onto the reins. He quickly bolted off the horse's back and stood to the side, grabbing the reins tightly, and tugging on them, whispering soft, quick words to the gelding.

"Hey! Hey, quiet down, boy! Easy, easy, easy, there, there," he said soothingly, tugging on the reins and keeping the horse's hooves firmly on the ground when Alexander was on all fours again. "Listen boy, we can't be that loud. Not out here, definitely not here. The Picts have ears like a hawk, the nose of a wolf, and the eyes of a panther. We can't take any chances with being in their territory."

Alexander snorted and bobbed his head, stomping his hoof into the ground and creating long, deep grooves. The horse snorted and tugged at Quintus' tattered clothing, snorting and sniffing it carefully.

"Yeah, sorry about that; long memory, from a long, long time ago, before I ever brought you here," Quintus said, stroking the horse's forelock with gentle, long strokes. They stood there like that for a long time before Quintus heaved himself back onto the chestnut's back. "alright, we've lost too much time. Let's get going. Hya!"

Alexander reared slightly again before taking off at a smooth canter that he had been trained for boar hunting whenever springtime came. So while Alexander showed off and felt like a king, Quintus found himself dreaming about memories long buried and his dearest Arianne.

_**III**_

Mammon and his group rode along the mountains, riding fast and furious with loud, galloping strides atop their horses. They moved silently, scanning every inch of the forest surrounding them and then looking off at the other sides of the great mountains; truly treacherous and dangerous were the rocky hills with jagged points, daring someone to throw themselves down to their own demise.

They had only stopped only along their way, and that was to paint their faces in the bright blue paint of their people. Each warrior now had the blue substance adorning their cheeks and the sides of their foreheads, and their chins.

"We're close! I can practically smell the Roman now!" Sahkar cried out, riding forward beside Mammon as the hunter behind began to form a single file line, then spreading out again into the hunting pack that they were.

A pack of wolves out to get the flesh of its prey- Roman.

Mammon stared straight ahead, riding with building power and authority. He planned his every move, and calculated every turn or chance the calculative Roman could use. He would be facing the leader, no doubt about it. And no doubt that the leader was the one who killed Etain.

But Mammon was stronger than Etain, a far better warrior. Where she was a tracker, he was a hunter and a fighter. He would triumph over the Roman; of that, he was positive. His eyes scanned the terrain carefully, tracking the sound and watching the grounds for any signs of passage.

"We're still heading in the right direction?" Mammon asked, looking at Sahkar sternly. He had sunken into his zone, the mode where he entered the role of leadership that was rightfully his.

His followers nodded and grew serious, riding swiftly as their horses picked up speed, snorting and coughing with the constant riding they were encountering. They knew of this mood of his. He was sinking into his primal instincts, the Picts warrior that had been imbedded into all their brains since birth.

"Yes; he shouldn't be too far away from us, judging by the sounds of the forest. They screech and howl everywhere he goes. We are only a few miles," Sahkar said, before skidding to a sudden halt, causing many horses and warriors behind him to squeal and neigh shrilly in the suddenness of the halting of their small caravan.

Mammon skidded to a halt, trying to calm down his jumpy stallion as he looked back at Sahkar.

"What is it?" he snapped sharply, turning his horse and trotting up beside his second, where he sat atop his horse, listening carefully, his head turning every which way. He almost sounded like a snake with the way he began hissing, turning his head in jerky motions like a reptile.

"To our left!" Sahkar suddenly called, pointing to the left. Instantly they all herded to the spot and stared suspiciously, eyeing and scanning, their eyes zeroing in to full blast. Then Mammon heard a loud sound, and birds scattered into the air. A horse's neigh echoed through the mountains to their ears, and many of his hunting group grinned, whistling to each other about finding the prey.

The forest was silent before they all heard the thundering of hooves. Their muscles coiled and the horses shifted on their hooves, feeling the anticipation, adrenaline pumping through their bodies with heated blood. Even the horses could sense tension and anticipation of the thrill of riding hard to catch something.

Then they saw a flash of riding red; a chestnut horse! Mammon eyed it, seeing a rider firmly atop the horse, moving in tall and proud formation. It reminded him of a warrior, but he stopped Sahkar as he was about to lift a bow to fire.

"Wait!" he snapped, holding out his arm. His hunters had already locked and loaded their bows, but stilled on their leaders orders. "He's not in armor, nor is his horse wearing an special tack…he's a farmer, but obviously not someone of these lands…ride after him but do not engage as an enemy."

"Ride out!" Sahkar ordered, and instantly, their horses reared then took off at a fast gallop towards a point where they could intercede the rider's path. That was a common strategy used for his men, and it order speciously. Come in fast and swift, unknowing to the hunted. As his group took off quickly to ride out, he stopped and watched the rider halting, turning around his horse in a frantic circle, eyeing the entire area around him. Had the rider heard them?

He expected the rider to stay there, but instead, he kicked his horse back into a gentle trot. So he hadn't heard him? Had he seen them? The rider made Mammon's senses go on alert. Yeah, they needed to find out who this comer was. It made him suspicious, and when he was suspicious, he intended to find out what was happening.

_**III**_

Quintus kept riding, positive he had heard something before. Had that been the sounds of neighing horses? Was that the sound of a battle cry or perhaps hissed words in the Pict language. He had stopped and turned his horse around, searching everywhere.

He had thought he saw moving figures, but when he turned to look, he saw nothing at all, only the stillness of a forest and the steady sound of a flowing stream.

"Come on, boy," Quintus grunted and urged the anxious gelding into a steady trot. The horse tossed his head, fighting against the reins to go faster, but Quintus withheld him. "Oh no, last time I let you lead, you nearly bolted off like a Seal People tribe member and left me in the dust. I'm leading this time."

The horse snorted and tossed is head, but followed his orders. But all the while, instead of the horse's ears were normally laid back or simply off to the side in a lazy fashion, the ears were fully pricked forward, as if listening to something.

"Do you hear something, Alexander?" Quintus asked softly. He glanced around, looking at the trees looming over him. He was on an old path, grown over by grass and covered in weeds. He quickly looked at the steep hills looming over him, and simultaneously, a faint memory of rolling, fire blazing boulders smothered in oil and crimson flame popped into his mind.

Yelling and screaming in fury, the chopping off of a head by a rusty ax, and bodies piling onto his back made cold shivers race up his spine. Quintus looked down at his hands, tightly clutching the reins harder than he thought he was.

_I'm remembering way too much. It's all the in the past, and I can't go anything, _Quintus thought regretfully, urging Alexander to go a little faster.

"I feel uneasy here, Alexander. Why couldn't you have picked a better place to be? Why the west and into Picts territory?" he asked, and the horse snorted as if to ask why he was asking so many damn times. "Yeah, I know I'm getting irritating. Hell, I'm irritating myself."

Alexander snorted and he suddenly froze, snorting and tossing his head, ears alert and pricked. He snorted and shuffled on his feet, making Quintus looked down.

"What's wrong boy? Hey!" Quintus snapped when the horse began to shuffle back, rearing and tossing his head, neighing shrilly. The horse's pupils were dilated, wide and filled with fear. "Alexander, enough of this! Calm down!"

Quintus tugged harshly on the reins, rearing and turning the horse in a circle, making him pace and try to calm himself. Quintus looked all around when he thought he could hear a million noises all drowning out his hearing. Alexander neighed and tossed his head again, refusing to back down.

He backpedaled then jerked forward, unable to decide which way to go and what to do. Quintus' eyes darted everywhere, searching before he looked ahead and instantaneously made a decision.

"Hya!" he roared and kicked Alexander in the side, sending the horse flying forward. It brought back a memory, riding blindly forward through a flurry of soldiers fighting to their deaths, being picked and ripped apart, chopped in half. He rode blindly forward atop his horse to help the General.

"Faster, boy!" Quintus urged Alexander, and the horse's legs heaved faster, his nostrils flaring with the heavy intake and exhale needed to run at such a commanded top pace. Quintus scanned everywhere as they rode a million miles, zooming through the forest, scattering leaves and tossing them to the wind. "Hya!"

Alexander neighed and ran faster. Quintus turned his head, almost swearing that he saw Etain standing there, eyeing him. He could hear the snarl of a wolf in his ear and he stared in wonder, feeling his insides freeze to ice. He stared at her cold, mute face before she threw a trident staff at him, aiming for his head.

He turned his head to dodge and his eyes widened, jerking back Alexander's reins in a firm, quick jerk. Riders in furred clothing leapt out on their horses and landed in front of Quintus, blocking his path.

_Oh crap! No! Not now! I knew I heard something! I knew it! Damn it! _Quintus re-echoed these words as Alexander reared and backed up when more emerged from the sides and steep hills, plundering over the grassy plain in a split second.

Quintus turned Alexander in a quick circle, finding himself surrounded. Alexander was tossing his head and snorting, backing up and rearing, striking out his legs defensively of his rider. He recognized enemies when he saw one. Quintus did as well, although he did not recognize these particular beings.

If he knew anything, he recognized the blue paint of the Picts, and their furred lined clothing. He recognized the feral look in their eyes and the way they circled him, eyeing him like a rabbit ready to be butchered.

A massive, powerful looking and handsome rider rode around to the front.

_Most likely the leader. Shoot, this is not good. I only have my sword, no shield, and against all these warriors, there is no way I could stand a chance…I should have known they'd come back for revenge, _Quintus thought, holding the reins on a jittery, skittish Alexander rather tightly until he was positive his hands would start bleeding. He carefully adjusted his sword so that the hilt would not be revealed.

The leader eyed him before speaking in the Pict language to him.

"**Who are you, traveler? You are obviously not from around here. What tribe are you from?**" the leader asked in a stern voice, and it clicked in Quintus' mind. They didn't know him. So then they didn't know he was Roman. This was perfect, and he could use this to his advantage a great deal. Now all he had to do was play his cards correctly and roll the dice on the highest number; a play of the hand, just like gambling back in Rome.

"**My name is Salkom. I come from a small, lost tribe far to the south,**" Quintus lied, thinking of a quick Pict name. Salkom was one he managed to come up with, and found it would work for now. The leader and his warriors looked amongst each other, before scanning him over carefully.

"**What tribe?**"

"**My tribe is a lost one, killed long ago, no less than a year ago by a group of running Roman soldiers. They murdered my people in the night while I was out on patrol, roaming our lands for thieves and making sure out cattle were still well kept in the fields,**" Quintus lied, knowing that he had to stay on a good side of the Picts. They were vicious, and so, if he used their vengeance, he could live.

The leader's face seemed to soften and he said quickly, "**We ourselves are hunting a band of Roman soldiers who killed some of our best hunters, and our best tracker no less than a year ago. I imagine that we are hunting the same. However, we are hunting only the leader, and believed he could be hiding at the Witch's Cottage.**"

_Crap, they're hunting me! Maybe this isn't such a good idea. And how would they have figured out he was at Arianne's? Had they suspected long ago that he resided there? _He stared at them and nodded his head, glancing around before zeroing in on the leader.

"**They were a vicious lot, and I resented them for killing my people; my fiancé died before I could propose to her,**" Quintus lied, though it wasn't an entire lie. Arianne had indeed died before he could propose, and he still wept inside for the loss of his beloved witch. He missed her long golden hair, her gentle faded green eyes, her…

"**then why don't you join us on our hunt, Salkom!**" the leader said with a brilliant smile. A rider next to the leader glanced at him then at Quintus with a calculating eye before saying in Pict, "Are** you sure about that, Mammon? We do not know him, nor do we know who his people are."**

"**My people are a lost tribe as I said before," **Quintus said, thinking of the Ninth Legion and he recalled all their faces. "**My tribe ran away from roman rule, combining everyone. It did not matter to us what language you spoke or what race you were. We all just hated Romans, and so we moved like a gypsy tribe.**"

The rider stared at him before looking at the leader, Mammon apparently. Quintus swallowed deeply, feeling his insides begin to quiver as they analyzed him. Then the leader rode up to him, steadying his horse beside Alexander. The two horses, black and chestnut, sniffed each other then snorted, calm and shifting on their hooves.

Mammon looked at Quintus and he waited silently before the Pict held out his hand.

"**Join us, Salkom. We both want the same Roman soldier; you and I both want revenge for our fallen comrades and family. Let us depart and hunt the leader down like swine, and join us. you can even come and live amongst the Picts as an honored guest. You already speak out language fluently,**" Mammon said and Quintus stared at the hand like it was a snapping rattlesnake, its tail rattling. It made Quintus begin to feel frightened. He was going to join with the very enemy hunting him?

_It could spare me some time…I can escape in the night. I can't stay with them for too long, possibly only for tonight and then leave when they all sleep, _Quintus thought before hesitantly reaching out his hand and clasping the firm, rough hand. It made him shiver as the leader stared at him.

_**III**_

"My name is Mammon, second to Gorlacon, and I humbly welcome you into our ranks, Salkom of the Southern tribe," Mammon said before looking at his group. "You all will welcome him into our ranks, and tonight, we will hold a small feast in welcome. And he will paint his face like us, to show our similar intents to kill."

Mammon looked at the face of the stranger, Salkom. The man seemed very decent, and his Pict speech was extremely fluid, surprising Mammon greatly. Did the language really stretch that far, to the south even?

He looked at the man closely, taking the opportunity. Salkom was rough and he had a head of curled brown hair that framed the sides of his face. His chin and cheeks were perfectly shaven, and his eyes- oh those eyes captured Mammon, captivating him.

They were as blue as the ocean, as blue as the sky, and as aquamarine as the turquoise hanging from a necklace around Mammon's neck. Mammon stared at those eyes before they darted around to the warriors surrounding them. _How foolish of you, Mammon? Salkom must be wary and frightened after being cut off so abruptly, and so freaked out that his horse nearly threw him off._

"Men, scatter; there is no longer the need to frighten our new companion with a hunting circle," he said and clapped Salkom on the back before circling behind him. He noticed a sword outlined Salkom's bag. "Tell me, Salkom, are you a fighter?"

Those blue eyes darted to his face quickly, and in perfect Pict tongue, he said, "Yes. I managed to kill one roman that grew foolish, and I stole his sword. Must have been a high commanding officer of some sort on the run from his own people," he said as he reached into the bag and drew out a long sheath.

On the hilt, a bright golden eagle was spread out, encrusted into the gold, branding it. It mesmerized Mammon and he smiled at Salkom. He very much liked the man, far more than he probably should in the few minutes they had talked.

"You are a very interesting man, Salkom; come, let us ride while you tell me all about what your tribe was like, and how you killed the Roman," Mammon said, pressing his hand to Salkom's shoulder and guiding him up close beside Mammon's black stallion. The ginger, chestnut gelding snorted and tossed his head, to which Salkom muttered a few soft words, stroking the gelding's neck calmly and soothing.

Mammon smiled wide and nodded to his men, who fell in close to listen to the thrilling stories of Salkom's homeland, and soon enough ,they all found themselves entranced.

And it was all working not in favor of the enchanted Mammon, but right into Quintus' hands.

_**III**_

_**Wild: There you have it! I feel that it may be a little rushed, but there is still plenty of story to come! And have no fear, I'm also going to start my own continuation of the Eagle, which is a fantastic all time favorite of mine!**_

_**Aiya: She's working hard and trying to balance all of her ten stories, so have patience with her. But of course, so far nobody has reviewed, so peeps. GET YOUR BUTTS IN GEAR!**_

_**Wild: Please do? I've been putting my best into these stories, and I feel bad that nobody is reviewing. But I guess there will always be hardships along the road to victory. As Quintus Dias said, "Where they falter, we must go!"**_

_**Aiya: Yeah! Way to use your memory, sis! Anyway, please stay tuned and review your hearts out with our dearest wildkatz!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Conquest of the Picts**

_Wild: Well, still going strong! Uh, anyway, I am hopeful that soon enough people will read and review, as I am putting my heart and soul into writing this story!_

_Aiya: She really is! And you guys being no reviewing Romans are not helping!_

_Wild: anyway, for now, I think I'll just give the summary, and offer a tray of virtual chocolate triple chip cookies *holds out tray* We have milk too?_

_**Summary: Quintus has collided with Mammon and his pack! Even more surprising, he has joined their ranks under the name of Salkom of the South in order to escape right beneath their noses. He plans to stow away by night, but can he really escape so easily from the Picts out for his head?**_

_**IV**_

Mammon laughed, jerking forward on his stallion as Salkom described the silly, preposterous ways of Roman culture. As if such a god called Zeus, ruling on Mount Olympus could ever have existed. It was outrageous, absurd, and bizarre!

"So they actually built temples all over Rome to worship these gods?" Sahkar asked, laughing joyfully and hysterically, almost more than Mammon himself. The tracker had taken a quick liking to Salkom, and for that, Mammon was grateful. He wouldn't like it if those two faced off against each other.

"Yes. There was a god for almost everything; love, wine, war, wisdom, hunting, women, etc," Salkom stated simply, staring straight ahead or down at his horse's mane while they plodded along. They had already been riding on their horses for good two or three hours after adopting Salkom into their herd.

They had continued to find tracks and marks left behind that indicated they had indeed travelled to the Witch's dwelling. They had been riding onwards towards the hutch in the middle of the forest, where smoke trickled into the sky like a snake, curling and weaving in and out of its own body. And as they neared, Salkom's horse began to get very jumpy.

"What about for stupid animals?" one of their men, Yakoo, a fine and fairly decent Pict asked, laughing as Salkom's horse stopped and tossed his head. Salkom quickly began to utter soft words, rubbing the chestnut gelding's neck.

"Is something wrong with your horse, Salkom?" Mammon instantly asked, riding up next to the handsome farmer. Salkom was still whispering gently, his words a swift blur that was incomprehensible. Finally, after a long moment, he straightened and looked at Mammon with those heated, iceberg blue eyes.

"He's just a little jittery. We haven't been in this area before, so I think it might be better if we simply hang around here," Salkom said, patting his horse's head. The chestnut horse had turned its head to snort at his rider, earning a gentle, melting chuckle from Salkom. "Although this guy might just drag me along."

The horse tossed his head and reared slightly, jumping around on his feet, causing the Pict group to laugh joyously. The chestnut snorted and stomped his hoof impatiently, stepping away from the herd in eagerness to get away while the others' horses followed, as if drawn. Salkom jerked at the reins, and the gelding jerked back, force fighting against force; fire verses fire.

"Do you control the beast, or does it control you?" Mammon asked, grinning at Salkom's innocent ways of reining in the horse with a wide smirk.

"Something controls me, but I wouldn't say that it's this beast," he said, and Mammon had an excited feeling growing in the pits of his gut that boiled and churned like geocentric molten lava. He sat there atop his black stallion while his horse pawed the ground rather impatiently.

"Mammon, we need to get moving quickly if we are to speak to the Witch and break camp a distance away from here," Sahkar said hastily, nudging his leader with the blunt side of his trident. Mammon swiftly snapped out of his daze from staring into the aquamarine eyes and looked at his second.

"Right…Yakoo! Renock! Please keep our fine guests company, would you? Take him away from here and out of Witch Territory. We will meet you at out nearest rendezvous point," he said and nodded to Salkom. "They'll keep you safe – though if you can take down a Roman General, you would be able to handle anything, right?"

Salkom nodded very slowly and glanced between the two men on his flanks.

"Right; anything at all," Salkom said and glanced back at the two men. "Lead the way, gentlemen," Salkom said, reining in his horse with one final jerk of the ropes and turning the chestnut. Yakoo and Renock grinned toothily at Salkom then sent a heated smirk at Mammon before kicking their horses into a fast gallop.

Salkom watched them for a second before nudging his horse just barely with the heel of his boot. The orange gelding snorted and shifted on his hooves before tossing his head and striding out into a smooth, graceful lope that put a sprinting stag to shame.

Mammon watched the three go, keeping his eyes glued to them until they disappeared into the shrubbery and green limbs. Then he was left to stare at thin air until Sahkar smacked him upside the head, earning a harsh growl from the Pict youth leader.

"What the fuck, Sahkar?" snapped Mammon, turning his gaze on his second. His black steed tossed his head and stomped his heavy hoof. Already dusk was beginning to settle on the scene, and the sun beginning to set in arrays of color that foretold the coming of the moon.

"Get your head out of the clouds, Mammon…he is a farmer, and we need to get going so we can question the Witch. But we cannot kill her; it is said that her death would bring calamity and misfortune upon us," Sahkar said, eyeing Mammon with a stern, stone face.

Mammon stared at his second for a long moment, contemplating whether to give into the urge to strike him, but decided against it. Instead he nodded and turned back to his remaining men.

"We confront the Witch, then set out to meet our comrades…onward!" he cried out and kicked his horse into a lope, riding swiftly and stealthily through the forest towards the trickling black smoke rising from the treetops that reminded him of a plague.

_We're onto you, murderous Roman. Run and hide all you want. You can never escape us, no matter how well you try to run, _Mammon thought with a deadly, blood thirsty grin. If only he knew how well the "murderous Roman" could hide, and how well he was currently hidden.

_**IV**_

Quintus Dias, or rather Salkom, rode atop Alexander and rode with rigid movements that could suggest to only those with keen eyes that he were uncomfortable and cautious. Quintus glanced back and forth between the two riders on black and white speckled horses riding at his sides.

_I can't believe I am doing this! This is suicide, _he kept repeating over and over in his mind. He kept replaying the idea of quickly jumping onto the horses and slitting the Picts' throats, silencing them before they could ever think of calling for help from Mammon and the others.

_But if I do that, then the leader's second will instantly know who I am. They'll hunt me down like Etain, and gut me for sure…that second, Sahkar; he is like Etain; a tracker and killer. He was suspicious of me; he is watching me always, _Quintus thought as he clucked to Alexander.

The chestnut gelding tossed his head and snorted while Quintus wished he could speak in Roman to soothe the horse's nerves. He knew the gelding hated not being talked to, but with Picts so close to him, he couldn't possibly take the chance of them getting the suspicion of him being the Roman leader.

"**Is that beast possessed by a demon or something, Salkom? He seems to be very jumpy,**" the smaller Pict, Renock, chuckled while rearing his horse back to trot beside Quintus. He looked up quickly to meet the Pict's subtle brown eyes. They held curiosity and good intentions; it reminded Quintus of the youngsters who had been assigned to his regimen while he was still on the frontier.

Quintus smiled brightly and patted Alexander, earning a small snort/whinny from the horse.

"He is not demon possessed, nor god possessed, Renock. He is merely still a colt. A wily one at that," Quintus replied, and heard Yakoo laugh huskily, falling in beside Quintus on his other side. This man was much bigger, burly and wily…and most definitely one to keep his eye on. He reminded Quintus of the men who pillaged women for game and the winning and conquest.

"**And what about his rider? Would you be possessed by something, Salkom? It is very rare for farmers to come this far,**" Yakoo drawled, grinning at Quintus. He turned blue eyes towards the bronzed, muscled man with shaggy brown hair and bright caramel eyes. "**Tell me, Salkom, what was your farm like?**"

Quintus paused and thought for a moment, looking as if he was staring off into the distance to imagine his "farm".

"It's was a beautiful place…of course, it was a family farmland. My father, he- he was a very proud Roman soldier, served in the army, and earned quite a bit of respect," Quintus said, and when he saw them tense, he quickly added, "However, we did not see eye to eye. We were always fighting."

"**About?**"

"He wanted me to go to war; follow in his footsteps and become a hero like in the fairytales and stories that are told to little children," Quintus said, imagining how opposed and different this lie was to his real life as a soldier of Rome. "My mother had died, and when I found my fiancé in a woman who wished to leave Rome, I had to leave my father behind."

"**And he didn't come after you? He must have been a complete bastard of a father,**" Renock snorted, and his horse jittered around at the rays of fury rolling off the younger Pict. Quintus felt the urge rise to scream at the Pict to hush up about his father, and to reveal his secret entirely.

"Yeah, he was; so when we left, he traveled as far away from Rome as we could. Eventually, we settled down in one area, and my fiancé and I kinda started farming in one area, providing for our travelling comrades whenever we could," Quintus lied, clucking for Alexander to pick up his pace a bit. It was making Quintus nervous with how close the two Picts were.

"We planted corn, some beans here and there; she had a flower garden, and liked to grow a rich and sweet delicacy she brought from Rome- strawberries," Quintus said, imagining the perfect life he wished Arianne and he could have lived if she had not fallen ill. "I hunted deer and learned how to fight, relying on both my father's unhelpful teachings and my own intuition."

Yakoo purred, riding up close beside Quintus as Renock coughed, hanging back just a bit.

"**You are truly an extraordinary creature, Salkom. I have never heard of such a creature as you,**" Yakoo said and leaned close to grasp Quintus' shoulder and lean in close. "**You seem almost too good to be true, Salkom. And how is it that your fiancé never proposed to you before her when you are so astonishing?**"

Quintus felt his blood run cold as he quickly said, "Where is this rendezvous spot that Mammon was talking about?"

He clucked his tongue and Alexander immediately sprinted forward into a gentle lope. He thought he heard Renock laugh and cackle under his breath while Yakoo growled his irritation at being turned down stone cold. Quintus didn't pay attention, keeping his mind in firm place.

_Pretend to be one of them. Don't give anything away. Focus on what you say and don't slip up…and above all else, keep a low profile and remain under cover. If I slip up even once, I am doomed to meet the General and all of the Ninth by nightfall, _Quintus thought as Renock came up behind him.

"**It's along the mountain pass, nearing close to an old Roman Regimen**," Renock replied cheerfully.

"And what about this Witch? What is her history?"

"**She was accused of witchcraft and being a necromancer. Our king, Gorlacon, gave her a scar and banished her to live here in the forest. We come through here every now and then in hope that she might have died, yet she never aged,**" Yakoo said. "**She was once a beauty until she decided to become a cursed witch!**"

"I-see…" Quintus said softly before looking up with profound determination. Arianne had never belonged with them, and he had only spent one year with her…now he had to make sure he live, if for anyone, if would be for her.

_Watch me, Arianne…I'm living for you, and I'll make sure to see your way to the promised land, if anything, through my actions, _Quintus thought and inhaled deeply.

"Then let's get going!" he bellowed and kicked Alexander in the side, causing the gelding to whinny. The chestnut tossed his head and strode forward, his hooves striking the ground as two Picts rode behind him. They cheered at the brightness of personality that had erupted into the "farmer".

And they felt the urge to see more…

_**IV**_

_**Wild: Okay, I will admit that I got a little tired with the writing towards the end of this chapter. But also, I've got about a million things on my mind with ISTEP. **_

_**Aiya: we only have one requests, and we pray to God and any other god or goddess that is alive on this earth; Venus, Aphrodite, Hera, Zeus, Jupiter, Athena, Poseidon, Neptune, and a million other names!**_

_**Wild: Please review! I'm also going to be writing a story for the Eagle, so I'm considering this as part of my practice. This is my only request: please just let me know how I am doing in these stories!**_

_**Aiya: Thank ya bunches, Romans, Picts, and any other race alike!**_

_**Wild: Bye!**_


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